


Smash That Burger

by reynkout



Series: Retail Store Epics [5]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Retail, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Finger Sucking, Lapdance, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, burger joint, dont blame me, gift fic for matt, idk i work at a burger joint, smashburger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 01:31:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2904344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reynkout/pseuds/reynkout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome to Smashburger! How may we take your order?</p><p>It's Jean's second month working at this burger joint that's known for smashing their burger patties on the grill, and he's got a <i>major</i> crush on his manager, Marco, who was the one who hired him in the first place. On one of his breaks, Marco asks him if he wants to eat in the managers' office with him. What's going to happen, Jean can only guess.<br/>What he does know, though, is that what goes on in the managers' office, stays in the managers' office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smash That Burger

**Author's Note:**

> Merry belated Christmas and Happy early New Year!
> 
> This is a burger joint fic that I thought of doing last-minute. Since I work at a burger joint (not this particular one, thankfully), I thought it would be fun to write about my everyday environment and turn it into something involving jeanmarco.
> 
> This story goes to Maranda, who is a wonderful person, and I love her to death. <3 We will run the world together one day.
> 
> Enjoy!

_Mayonnaise. A handful of lettuce…_

_Uh._

_Uhh.. Oh!_

_Five pickles._

_Two tomatoes._

_What else?_

“Hurry it up, Kirstein! Ticket time’s at four minutes! The patties are almost hot-swingin’!”

“Okay!” the nineteen-year-old Jean Kirstein hollers across the kitchen. He skids over to look over the order on the printed out ticket, the top hamburger buns in his hands. Some balance on his wrists, threatening to topple over if he makes one false move.

Deeming he had dressed the buns correctly, he sets them down on each piece of aluminum foil in order based on the tickets. He sighs in relief.

But his job is far from over. There are more top buns to be toasted, topped and set on the foils so the grillmen can rightfully complete the burger with one or two (and sometimes three) juicy patties. The order tickets are stacking up, becoming a thick wad of paper. The ticket printer is beginning to run out of paper. Jean assumes he has to feed it a new roll of receipt paper in approximately fifteen seconds.

He watches as the grillmen work at their station, flipping over the patties to reveal the cooked underside, then they _smash_ it, flattening the meat a bit, exposing the ripe, pink inside. He gulps.

“What’cha doin’ just dawdlin’ around, Kirstein?” One of the two managers, Eren, yells at Jean. “Ged’uh move on!”

“Yes, sir!” Jean grits out, moving as fast as he can; pickles and lettuce goes flying almost everywhere at his condiment station. “Ugh, I suck at this,”

His coworker, Reiner, who’s dressing the bottom buns, smirks, then lets out a bellowing laugh. “Come on, Jean, get it together. Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted to do? Work at Smashburger? Get a mooove on,” He’s joking, of course, because he’s also just as slow as Jean.

Jean rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. How he hates Eren so, so much for pointing him out for slacking him out and embarrassing him in front of the crew _and_ the customers, who can watch as they make the burgers since, well, the kitchen is in the front where the registers are and open for everyone to see.

When he’s about to get on to ticket number 93, someone taps him on the shoulder. Jean turns around suddenly, almost knocking over the person behind him.

Jean stutters out an apology, “Oh, uh, sorry,”

His manager, the one who hired him two months ago, smiles at him. Jean likes the way his manager smiles. He likes the way his manager treats him so kindly. He likes when his manager talks to him so casually and sweetly. He really likes his m--

“Hey, did you wanna eat something on your thirty?” Jean’s manager asks. _Thirty… Ohh, he means Jean’s thirty-minute break_.

Jean fumbles with his hamburger buns before answering, “Yeah, sure,”

“Here, I’ll ring it up for you. What’d you like?”

‘You,’ Jean wants to reply, but doesn’t. Instead he goes with, “Uum, a grilled cheese… everything on it.”

“No meat?” Fuck. Jean, shakes his head, mostly to get rid of the dirty thoughts forming in his head.

“No, I’m good. Thanks, Marco.” Jean says.

Marco grins widely, satisfied with the answer. He chuckles. “No problem, dude. When your food is done, you can go ahead and go on your break, okay?”

“Okay,” Jean doesn’t get to finish his sentence, though, because a loud voice interrupts him from thanking Marco again.

“I’ll make your food, Jean.” Reiner pipes up suddenly. “It’s gonna be great.”

“You better not put jalapenos on it,” warns Jean. “Or I _will_ have your head when you take your ten,”

Reiner tsks, smirking. “Naw, Jeanny-boy, I’d never do that to ya. Maybe I’ll add some capsaicin-like hot sauce to put some spice into your life. You haven’t got any for _months_ now,”

“Shut up!” Jean practically screams. “And don’t bring my personal life into this. There are children here, _children_!” He coughs lightly, then faces the lobby, where the customers watch the crew and mingle with one another. He grins sheepishly. “Hey y’all, sorry about that. Your order’ll be coming out shortly.”

So Reiner takes his time laying down the buns and cheese onto the grill, starting on Jean’s food for his mealtime. Jean busies himself by taking over both top and bottom buns dressing, constantly forgetting to put the bacon on the bottom buns and getting scolded by Eren every single time he makes a mistake.

“Jean, it’s ready!” Reiner says, and Jean feels a sudden wave of ‘thank God, this kid’s a lifesaver’ wash over him for just a second.

He finishes up the last of the buns before he sprints to the fry station, where his food is already packed in the known-too-well brown paper bag. Except, there’s something a little off, and Jean can’t really put his finger on what seems particularly odd to him. Shrugging, he grabs it and punches his number into the POS system, putting himself on lunch break.

Jean slams the door to the back of the store open, undoing his apron right away. He is _so_ ready to get out for a little while; to relax and drink some Cola or something. But doesn’t get to, because his manager, Marco, emerges from the kitchen and into the back of the store where Jean is struggling with the apron’s strings.

Marco yawns, stretching. Then, he notices Jean. “Oh hi,” He smiles again.

“Hey,” Jean bites his lip. Come on, the strings can’t be knotted _that_ much. Fuck. He’s always getting flustered around Marco. “Uh,”

Marco looks so good with his face a little heated from cooking on the grill, his cheeks a little flushed, his freckles standing out against his dark skin. When he takes off his cap, he reveals his perfect black locks of hair; Jean imagines they’d be so soft if he reached out to touch them. But, alas, he’s got his hands behind his back, still trying to undo the knot.

“You need help?”

Just as Marco asks, Jean’s got the knots out of his apron strings. “No,” He hangs the apron on the rack right next to the managers’ office. “Thanks for the offer, though.” He pauses, then, “So, um, I guess I’ll see you in thirty minutes. More like twenty something because I’ve been fiddling around here--,”

“Sit with me,”

“And I know it’s stupid, but--, what?” Jean doesn’t trust his ears enough to think he heard correctly.

Marco grins wide. “You and me, why don’t we sit together during our break?”

“Well, I mean, if you insist…”

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime invitation for a lunch in the managers’ office, Jean.”

Marco has a point there. Jean has never been able to eat in the managers’ office, and now is his only chance. Plus, he’d be able to talk with Marco and be in his presence and just… be there. Jean would rather take this than any other day, sitting alone in a corner of the lobby to munch on his decked-out grilled cheese sandwich.

“Yeah, alright,” says Jean, almost like he’s reluctant. But he’s not. Far from that, actually. He’s fucking _ecstatic_.

So they end up sitting in the office, Jean on the desk because there’s somehow a lack of chairs. He notes that the managers’ office isn’t as big as what it seems to look like on the outside; it’s about as big as a closet. Even the bathrooms are bigger than this place.

“So, Jean, how’ve things been going?” Marco starts some friendly conversation, leaning back in his chair.

Trying not to stuff his mouth full of grilled cheese, he chews, gulps, and clears his palette before saying, “It could have been better. All this accounting stuff is slowly rotting my brain. I hate going to community college,”

“But this is leading up to your future, Jean.” Marco pulls at a hangnail on his thumb and hisses slightly. “If I were you, I’d stick with the accounting class. You’re guaranteed a stable career after that.”

He sighs, wiping at his probably covered-in-burger-grease face with a hand. He stretches once more, his shirt riding up ever so slightly, showing that dark trail of hair going further than just his pant waistline. If Jean was still eating, he wouldn’t be by now. Now, his eyes were fixed on Marco’s body, tracing that happy trail down as far as he could, imagining where it met with Marco’s probably delicious, thick cock.

Damn, Jean’s drooling.

Marco hitches an eyebrow up at the nineteen-year-old. “Jean?” Did he just see the boy lick his lips while eying his body up and down?

“Y-yeah?” Shit, even Jean’s voice shows that he’s totally distracted. Even his half-eaten sandwich sits on the spot on the desk next to him, getting colder and colder by the second.

Marco half-giggles out, “Are, are you by chance, _checking me out_?”

Oops. Jean’s face goes fire-engine red with embarrassment. His sharp, hazel eyes look away quickly, teeth biting into his lower lip. He chews on it, muttering what sounds like an apology. Marco wants to take a picture of Jean’s reaction; he’s so _cute_.

“Hey there,” Marco pushes his chair closer to Jean until Jean’s knobby knees hit his chest. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it,”

Jean’s face scrunches, and his head swings to look at Marco with shocked eyes. What did he just say? Is Marco really here with him, actually telling him it’s okay to stare and fantasize? Is he sure he’s not dreaming? Should he pinch himself? Maybe he’ll wake up from this surreal dream…

Marco watches as Jean takes a patch of skin from his arm and pinches, hard.

“Ow, shit!” spews Jean. He takes a look at his surroundings, finding that this is _not_ a dream and Marco seems about as into him as he is into Marco. A blush spreads across his entire face.

Marco takes Jean’s hand in his, chuckling. “You’re not dreaming, Jean. You’re actually still at work,”

“Fuck, I know that now,” Jean rubs at the back of his neck with his free hand, then tilts his head back like he can’t believe he’s still living. “You… like it?”

Marco nods, “Mhmm, love it.”

Marco’s hand is bigger than his, and warmer, too. He’s got more callouses than Jean, his palm rougher and seemingly more weather-beaten, even though Jean knows it’s really from all the dishwater and the constant cuts and burns from handling the fry baskets and other equipment around the store. Jean brings Marco’s hand to his lips, daring to kiss each one of his tanned, freckled knuckles with a bit of tongue each time.

His manager’s breath is bated as Jean stares him right in the eye while kissing his hand. His lips are full and soft, and Marco is tempted to pull Jean into his lap and grind against him until they’re both coming from the sheer intensity and lust that’s clearly in the air.

When Jean starts to suck at his fingers, swirling his tongue around the tips, Marco breaks his cool and clutches Jean’s wrist in his hand, indeed shoving him on into his lap. Jean yelps pathetically, like he wasn’t expecting Marco to react to his naughty actions.

Marco breathes in deep before twirling Jean around so he can snog the hell out of his face. They lock lips; Jean encircles his arms around his manager’s neck, bringing him in even closer than before. He gasps when Marco nibbles on his lip, teasing them open so he can plunge his sinfully sweet tongue into Jean’s mouth.

Jean moans when their pink muscles meet, greeting and mingling with each other for the first time, like the tongues are trying to get to know each other personally. They explore their hot caverns, starting off in Jean’s, then going over to Marco’s shuffling their tongues into one cheek, then the other, and back to the meeting point where their lips are still connected, moving against each other.

They travel to Jean’s mouth, where Marco delves his tongue underneath Jean’s and tickles the particularly smooth underside of it, feeling over Jean’s gums and running over veins that pulse with excitement.

Jean’s pants are tenting uncomfortably, and he shifts in Marco’s lap. Their arousals brush together once, causing both Marco and Jean to squirm for more. They grind against one another, Jean a little more vigorous in his movements than Marco, because Marco wants to feel that cock of Jean’s for real, skin against skin. Nevertheless, they rut against each other, sucking face with passion.

The phone rings just as Marco’s hand makes its way to Jean’s belt, slowly untucking Jean’s uniform shirt from his pants. The freckled man has to almost surgically remove his lips from the other’s before he can reach for the device and answer the call.

“ _Hi, is Marco there?_ ” says someone on the opposite end of the phone before Marco can even greet them.

“Hello, yes, it’s Marco speaking,” he replies. Jean frowns when Marco gives him the slightest of pushes, signalling that he needs to get off of Marco because Marco’s got something to do about work.

Jean sags to the floor, fitting perfectly beneath the desk, and Marco scoots forward so he can reach the mouse and keyboard of the computer that sits there. As he’s clicking away and editing some spreadsheet he and, supposedly, another manager are discussing, Jean waits on his knees, legs spread apart.

And then an idea hits him, making him grin lecherously.

Scooting up so that he’s in range of Marco’s crotch, Jean plays with the button of the man’s jeans, his tongue darting out to run over his kiss-swollen lips. He can see Marco’s legs tensing up. Marco’s thighs are trembling when he strokes them with his fingers, and he pops his head out from under the desk, smiling madly at his manager.

“Don’t,” whispers Marco, but Jean ignores his plea.

Instead, Jean strokes his manager’s growing bulge, breathing hot pants of breath over it. He looks up at Marco, who desperately tries not to cringe at how good he’s feeling right now. And then Jean dives in, popping the button open and pulls the zipper down so fast that it takes him a few tries to get it to unzip all the way.

Marco’s cock is concealed by ocean blue boxers, the kind that snaps open in the middle for quick access. Perfect. But he’ll have to save that for later, because right now Jean is going lower, sucking on the fabric that clings to his manager’s amazingly sized balls.

Marco bites back a moan that comes out from the tiny gaps in his teeth. He regains his control though, saying everything is okay to the person he’s speaking with on the phone. Jean doesn’t want that, though, and takes it a step further; he takes both balls into his mouth, rolling them around in their sac through the blue fabric, soaked with his warm saliva.

The freckled man’s cock twitches in its confines, and Marco makes the tiniest of whimpers as he sits back in his chair to watch Jean. His underwear is snapped opened in the middle, and he has to hold the phone receiver away from his mouth to tell Jean,

“Don’t do the thing,”

But Jean does the thing. He takes out Marco’s nearly rigid cock from his boxers and strokes it up and down, his grip strengthening as time goes on. Marco squints at the nineteen-year-old, trying to concentrate on the phone call.

He nods, making small chat with the person on the phone, retaining his stiff posture. He does, however, give in a bit, sliding his tan hands into Jean’s hair, urging him to continue when a minute before he was begging him not to. Jean obliges all too happily, lips puckering near the bulbous tip of Marco’s cock.

He kisses it chastely, precome smearing on his pretty pink lips. He licks them; the taste of Marco’s precome is not as bad as he had imagined. In fact, he likes it. He likes it so much he thinks he may become addicted to it if he’s allowed to have it more than once. He cooes sweetly when he plays with the slit at the top of Marco’s dick. Marco can’t do anything but direct all of his energy somewhere else and pull at Jean’s bleached hair.

Jean loves it, and then Jean digs for gold and dives head-on, enveloping Marco with his hot mouth.

A little ‘ah’ slips out of Marco, and he immediately covers it up with a sentence of affirmation, so that he’s agreeing with the other on the line. He glares at Jean, but Jean’s already lost in his own world, suckling on his dick like a kitten who craves for milk.

The way Jean’s lips are wrapped around his cock is arousing, sexy, even though the shine in his eye when he peers up at his manager comes off as naive and innocent. Marco’s flat teeth abuse his lower lip, taking in the sight of Jean, who’s on his knees for his manager and giving head in the managers’ office during his break. If Jean had chosen to sit alone in the lobby, he’d still be eating his grilled cheese or sipping on his cherry Cola. But no, here he is, enjoying Marco’s dick like it’s his favorite candy.

Jean hums around the cock in his mouth when Marco pulls at his blond hair, pulling off for only a moment before he laps at the tip, giving special attention to Marco’s sensitive head. His lips move around it, then he kisses along the length, down to the base.

“Mnn,” Marco barely covers up his noises. “Nn, yeah, I understand,” he says into the phone. Jean brings himself back to the head of his cock and _swallows_ it down. “Ff-uh, hey, I’d love to stay and chat, but they kinda need me out there. Ya know, lunch rush and everything,”

A grunt of disapproval from the other end of the line, but Marco says, “Okay, thank you. Have a great day… uh-huh, nn, see you. Bye.”

As soon as Jean’s manager flings the phone across the desk, he pulls the nineteen-year-old up off the floor and bites Jean’s cheek. He hauls Jean’s ass back into his lap, where the denim of Jean’s pants collide with Marco’s cock. He groans, grinding against him.

“Holy,” A breath. “Do you know how torturous that was?” Marco gravels.

Jean spreads his legs and drops his waist into Marco’s, eliciting a tiny moan from both of them. “Oh, yeah,”

“You’re barely even legal,” Marco says. As if that’s going to deter Jean from him.

“I _know_ ,” Jean sighs. “Extend my break,” He gives another rut up against Marco.

They would be perfectly content to get off right there and then, but Jean’s manager has something else in store for them. He drags Jean’s pants down, his underwear catching along with it. Jean sighs, adjusts his position, and wiggles out of his bottoms. Then, he swings his long legs over Marco again, straddling him. He hikes up his shirt, tilting his head back like he’s some type of pornstar.

What kids watch these days.

Marco’s eyebrows shoot up when Jean holds him by the shoulders, giving him a full on lapdance to some personal beat that plays in his head. The barely-legal Jean Kirstein wiggles and moves; his body flows and bends as naturally as a coursing river. He lifts up his arms, exposing his torso, showing off to his manager how much muscle he’s gained since first working at Smashburger.

He hasn’t built much, but it’s a start. Marco leans in, taking a nipple into his mouth. By the way Jean reacts (with moans as his eyes slide shut), he can tell this is one of his weak points. Good. Marco rolls the nub around with his tongue and suctions at it. When Jean speeds up his dance to a faster pace, the freckled man moves on to the other nipple. He lets it go with a ‘pop’.

“Sensitive there, aren’t you?” he deduces.

Jean lolls his head once. “N’yeah, gonna get them pierced for New Year’s,”

Marco swears he blushes all the way down to his neck. “That’d be hot,”

“You think so?” Jean grins devilishly as he positions himself to where Marco’s cock slides over his ass.

“Totally. I’d play with them all day long if I could,”

“Fuuck,” Jean whines just as Marco bites on one of them, “Come on, come on. We don’t have all day.”

Three fingers are put to his pretty lips. Marco stares at him intently. “Suck.”

So he does, sucking on them with the same amount of energy as he had when guzzling down some of Marco’s precome. He gives Marco a half-lidded look, bobbing his head, saliva starting to drip down his chin as he coats those three digits with enough slippery, terribly makeshift lube that his mouth with allow for him to put out.

“That should be good enough,” breathes Marco, and he directs his fingers to Jean’s ass instead.

He squeezes Jean’s round globes, then rubs a slick finger over the blonde’s little pucker. He teases it, wiggling his finger until he knows Jean’s ready enough to be prepared. He sticks in a finger.

But it’s Jean who presses down hard, enveloping Marco’s entire finger. He whimpers at the intrusion, but keeps on, riding it with spur-of-the-moment confidence. Marco can’t help but level up and stuff two of his digits into Jean. He scissors them, opening Jean little by little, until Jean squirms, uneasy, and asks for the third finger.

Marco groans out loud when Jean takes all three fingers, moving against him like he wants it _now_ ; any other time will not suffice. He needs it. He needs to be fucked at this very moment.

“H-hold on,” Marco manages to stop Jean for a moment and take out his fingers.

He reaches for his wallet, opening it, and produces a condom packet from it. Jean laughs, waggling his eyebrows at his manager, scooting back a bit. He takes the packet and rips it open, plucking the protection from it. Oh-so-slowly, he takes his time covering Marco with it. Then, when satisfied with his work, he goes back into place, lining himself up with Marco’s standing-to-attention member.

Jean sinks down on it.

The feeling of breaching Jean is too great for Marco; he can barely even breathe as he watches Jean impale himself on his cock. His hands scramble to those bare hips so he can get ahold of the blonde as he thrust up into him, all the way to the hilt.

Marco doesn’t do anything after that, though, because Jean’s already got it under control. The blonde starts to rock on his dick, going up and down, and the office is soon filled with sounds of skin slapping against skin.

Jean lets out a needy moan when he starts to slow, and that’s the signal to have Marco take over for him. Gripping Jean’s waist, he lifts the nineteen-year-old, then plunges him back down onto his fat cock. He thrusts up into Jean’s hot heat as he slams him down so hard that the ass he squeezed earlier bounces off his lap.

And Jean _is_ bouncing in Marco’s lap, nearly on the edge of screaming. His sounds are loud, but jilted due to Marco’s constant, rhythmic thrusts. Jean leans into Marco, pressing his chest to Marco’s bigger, sturdier one.

Somewhere along the way, their lips meet again and they’re frenching. Marco swallows down Jean’s noises, now fucking both his ass and his mouth at the same time. He growls, fighting for dominance with his tongue, pulling out a few hat-tricks to leave Jean a desperate pile of goo.

Jean begins to stroke himself, hand going at a, well, _hand-breaking_ pace. Marco pitches in, playing with the tip of the blonde’s cock, stretching the little turtleneck of his foreskin. Jean moans, ecstatic.

“Ahh, uh, Marcoo,” he gasps. “Gonna come, coming,”

Marco smirks. “Then come, babe.”

Jean fucking _shrieks_ when he comes, spurting into Marco’s hand. His back arches, chin nearly clipping Marco’s nose. His eyes roll back, eyebrows knitted together as he releases. His heartbeat goes wild. Electric shocks travel throughout his entire being, causing him to shiver. It goes red, orange, white and purple underneath his eyelids. It takes what seems like an eternity before he comes back down to earth, where he’s sitting in Marco’s lap, ass clenching around the member in him like a vice.

Marco snarls, ramming into Jean with erratic thrusts, and empties himself. After two or three more thrusts, he slows, coming to a halt.

The two men catch their breath, just hanging over each other in the managers’ office. Then, Marco reluctantly coerces Jean off of his lap so he can remove the condom and tie it off. He opens the office door a smidge, throwing it into one of the many red trashcans already full of garbage. He clicks the door shut before anyone notices it was open.

When he turns to look at Jean, the blonde is already dressing again. He busies himself by tucking his member back into his boxers, snapping it shut, then zipping his pants closed.

“So, uh,” Jean doesn’t exactly know what to say, but he wants to break the awkward silence between them.

Marco shakes his head, smiling. He kisses Jean once more.

“You have my number, yeah?” he asks. Jean nods slightly. “Call me after your shift. We’ll go out for sushi tonight. My treat.”

“But,” Jean stops himself, though. So he smiles and says, “Thanks, Marco.”

“No problem.” Marco adjusts Jean’s shirt, straightening out his collar. “Go smash some burgers,”

Jean walks out of the managers’ office and to the kitchen, almost forgetting to grab his apron. As he takes over for Berthold at the grill station, he can’t help but grin while he works.

Sure, he’ll smash some burgers for Marco.

And, next time, he’ll be smashing Marco’s burger.

**Author's Note:**

> 'Cos he don't want none unless Jean's got buns, hun!


End file.
